by Gia Dawn
The ache between her legs grew to unbearable proportions as her fantasy took hold, keeping her waiting with breath held in anticipation as they angled toward her. Ryan actually smiled as he motioned her forward, his eyes missing nothing of her dreadful attire as he studied her from top to bottom.
“Miss Winter,” he said, reaching out to take her hand, “just the woman we wanted to see.” To her utter shock, he didn’t shake it and let go—he held far too long as he presented her to his companion. “Zayne, this is Alaina Winter. Alaina, I was telling Mr. Saladar about our recent…miscommunication on the LaRue project.”
If eyes could promise both pleasure and pain, his did at that moment, their usual stern expression contradicted by a flicker of heat that took her breath away. If their normal color was smoke and ashes, today he added fire to the mix and, despite her best effort at control, her hand trembled as he bent close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek.
“Zayne agrees with your choice of color,” Ryan continued, shaking his head in admonition as he brought his mouth even closer to her ear. “So while it would be well within my right to discipline you for the transgression I will let you off the hook this time.”
Alaina shuddered at the dangerous sparkle of his smile. Damn. The man was more attractive than she’d given him credit for and his closeness was becoming unbearable as her body tingled and tightened in response.
Refusing to cross her hands across her chest and give him another clue to her emotions, Alaina stepped back and offered him one of her best frowns. “The building will be finished by tomorrow evening. After that our contract is ended if I recall correctly.”
His frown put hers to shame, the stark expression making her want to smooth the line from between his brow and kiss away the downward turn of his lips. Even the birds stilled their song as if they willed his smile to return. “We will discuss your contract at a later date,” he finally said, the frost in his tone enough to set her teeth on edge. “Today I am here with Zayne to view this excellent property he recently purchased.”
If her heart had been pounding before now it tried to leap from her chest as she realized she was in a prime position to speak to Mr. Saladar about the renovation work. She stepped toward the other man and held out her hand. “Mr. Saladar, so very pleased to meet you. Have you hired anyone to do the restorations?”
Barely able to breathe, Alaina locked her knees into place to keep them from buckling beneath her as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Alaina. Call me Zayne. I insist.” His smile grew as he turned to face Ryan, obviously sensing the subtext of their earlier conversation and gathering Alaina even closer as the other man’s jaw clenched tight. “Join me for dinner tonight and bring whatever sketches you have hidden in your pack. I would love to see your ideas—especially since my friend has spoken of you so highly.”
“I would be delighted. What time suits you?”
“Seven o’clock. But where should we meet? I am not familiar with the city.” Zayne turned to Ryan. “Where do you recommend?”
Ryan was coming? Alaina’s excitement popped like an overinflated balloon but Ryan looked overly pleased as he stuffed his hands in his pocket and seemed to consider.
“How about the Gaston Plantation?”
Alaina stiffened in shock as he gazed at her from beneath his lashes, unable to read a single emotion that played upon the bastard’s face.
The Gaston Plantation! The exact same location as the Red Mask Society. This had to be some sick cosmic coincidence, she thought, searching frantically for a way to refuse. Or did he frequent the plantation’s dark side?
Unable to keep images of the man looming over her in bed, spreading her legs apart while he slid the heat of his erection deep into her core and ground his hips hard against hers, Alaina forced herself to remain totally still as she tried to get herself under control once more.
“I did not know the Gaston Plantation had a public restaurant,” she mumbled at last, conscious that he’d moved a step closer and she could smell the clean scent of his skin.
“Indeed it does,” he assured her, one side of his mouth lifting into a decadent smile. “One of Charleston’s best-kept secrets.”
“Excellent.” Zayne clapped his hands together. “I shall have my driver pick you up, Miss Winter, and I look forward to seeing you this evening.” Then he took her hand once more and brought it to his lips, his eyes dancing with mischief as he saw Ryan’s mouth thin in disapproval.
Belatedly gathering her wits, Alaina managed to smile in return and take her leave all the while her stomach churned in restless knots.
He could not know about her erotic adventure…could he? Madame Brisson prided herself on the anonymity of her clients and to the woman’s credit Alaina had never once heard a word of scandal breathed about the place. But she ran in different circles than her wealthy ex-boss, and who knew what juicy tidbits of gossip were bandied about by the upper echelons of Charleston society?
And if Ryan did frequent the Red Mask, was it possible she would run into him one night, see him across the room while she waited for her master?
And would he recognize her even behind the concealing mask?
By seven o’clock, Alaina had put together a portfolio of her work for Zayne Saladar and had worked herself into a frenzy of anxiety, soothed only by a hot soak in the tub.
Dressing in her best career suit and highest power heels, Alaina felt reasonably confident by the time the driver arrived. Her confidence dwindled in direct proportion to how close she came to the Gaston Plantation.
To her immediate relief the car drove past the main plantation house where she had spent the night before. The driver pulled around the circular drive to a smaller building with a bustling parking lot and a welcoming porch which held a blackboard announcing the restaurant’s daily specials.
Several people walked through the wooden door as the driver helped her from the car, the luscious smell of grilling meat wafting on wood smoke curling from a chimney.
It was Ryan who greeted her in the lobby with a sardonic smile. “Good evening, Miss Winter.” He held out his hand.
Feeling her palm grow damp with nerves, Alaina resisted the urge to wipe hers down her skirt as she copied the gesture. What was he doing here? “Mr. Marquis.”
“Zayne is running a bit late and asked me to keep you company until he arrives.” He motioned to the hostess who led them to a table in one corner before handing him the wine list. “What would you like? Red? White? Or do you prefer champagne?”
Alaina felt her cheeks turn red as he stared at her, the brown of his eyes glittering with an emotion she could not decipher. “Red is fine.”
His mouth turned down at the corners. “Indeed? I thought champagne would better suit your personality.”
“Why is that?”
“Because even the cheapest bottle of champagne can contain surprising complexities. And because we are celebrating Zayne’s new project.”
Alaina noted he didn’t say her new job. She braved looking him full in the face, another prickle of unexpected desire settling heavy in her chest. It really was a good thing she wasn’t working for him any longer or she might be in danger of developing the proverbial crush-on-the-boss syndrome—except for the fact she had already met a man who rocked her world in the bedroom.
She grew uncomfortable beneath Ryan’s continued scrutiny, picking up her water glass and taking a sip to give her something to do besides fidget—only to choke on the mouthful when he said, “Ah, they have Dom Ruinart, a personal favorite of mine. Are you familiar with it? Miss Winter, do you need assistance?” he added as she continued to cough and splutter.
“Uh, no. I’m fine.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Whatever you suggest.”
“Dom Ruinart it is.” Ryan closed the menu and thanked the server for taking the order. Alaina was reminded of what Madame Manette had stated—you could tell how a man would tr
eat his women by the way he treated those who brought his food and drink.
Ryan was polite but distant. Would he be as distant in the bedroom? Or as fastidious? He was always perfectly dressed and tonight was no different. His hair was slicked back, his shirt pristine and pressed. Hell, even his nails were perfectly manicured.
So were your lover’s last night, said a very naughty voice in her mind. Filed so smooth they didn’t make a mark upon her skin. Before she choked on another drink of water Alaina quickly shoved the images of both men’s hands to a very secluded corner of her mind.
“Have you known Zayne Saladar long?” she asked instead.
“We met in college and again in Iraq just a few years ago.”
“I didn’t know you were in the military.”
“I wasn’t. Zayne contacted me about designing some cheap and effective housing for cities that had been bombed in the war. We were both architectural students at Cornell University, having a shared interest in historical design. But we were both also fascinated by out-of-the-box design ideas, such as refurbishing old shipping crates into affordable housing—a project that is being utilized in many places today.”
“Did the trip go well?” She wasn’t certain why she was so interested in his past but there was some shadow of discomfort in his voice that intrigued her, his tone so carefully neutral it was almost unnatural. He was holding something back and when his jaw clenched she become more than curious to hear the end of the story.
“No. Two weeks in we planned an excursion to several small villages north of Baghdad. I was in charge of securing transportation while Zayne and his wife Laylia rounded up the necessary permission forms. I turned over my part of the job to an assistant who didn’t check to make certain we had enough fuel to get us there and back. We ran out of gas several miles from the city.”
He broke off abruptly to take a long drink of his water. “Do you really want to hear the sordid details?” Despite the sardonic twist of his lips, Alaina could sense a deep-rooted pain and nothing in the world could have prevented her from getting the entire story.
“Please go on.”
Now it was his turn to look away. “To make a long story short, Zayne and Laylia radioed for help. The call was intercepted by a rogue Taliban faction. When they arrived they accused Zayne and his wife of treason and me of being a government spy. They shot Laylia and stabbed Zayne in the back when he tried to help her. Luckily a U.S. patrol intervened but Laylia was already dead and it was my fault.”
“Ryan, I am so sorry. That must have been horrible.” Without thinking she reached out to take his hand. “But it wasn’t your fault.”
“I passed the work off to an assistant and did not check that it was done properly.” For the first time, she saw the weight of the guilt he carried and understood his need for complete control. He’d been burned badly and it had cost his best friend’s wife her life. He would never let himself be put in such a position again.
He slid his hand from under hers as the server returned with the champagne and poured them each a glass. “But the past cannot be undone much as we would like to change it.” He reached in his pocket and passed an envelope across the table. “Official confirmation that our contract is ended.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of another thing to say and was spared the embarrassment of having to stammer something mindlessly when Zayne arrived.
“Just in time, I see.” With a smile he grabbed Ryan’s glass and motioned the server to bring another, bending to take Alaina’s hand. “I am pleased you have come. I hope my friend has not been difficult company.” He looked back and forth between the two of them and Alaina was certain he detected the tension in the air.
“No, not at all.” In fact it had been the best conversation she’d ever had with her ex-boss, one she wished they’d had months ago. But she knew Ryan wasn’t a man to give out personal information lightly and she felt as if she’d been granted access to a side of him he never would have shown her if not for Zayne and his purchase of the building. She smiled and bent to retrieve her files. “I brought a brief portfolio to show you some of my work.”
He waved the folder away as he sat down beside her. “You already have the job if you want it. Ryan’s recommendation was more than enough for me. What are we having for dinner that would come close to matching this excellent vintage?”
“I have already taken the liberty of ordering,” Ryan answered, sitting back in his chair. “If you trust that I know your tastes, Alaina.”
Her head shot up at his words with an uncanny sensation of déjà vu, but before she could place the thought their first course arrived, a roasted vegetable salad. She studied Zayne as they ate, admiring his elegant hands and his liquid-black eyes, so dark they looked as if they were rimmed in kohl, his mouth full and sensual but bracketed by lines that hinted at the tragedy of his past. His wife must have been amazingly beautiful. Sorrow washed over her at the thought.
“What do you plan to do with the old orphanage and when would you like to start the work?”
“It will be a center for women and children. Dedicated to my late wife. A thing I could never do in my home country.” His eyes shadowed with long-buried grief, but Alaina sensed an undercurrent of rage lurking behind the pain and she realized that Zayne Saladar might be a more tortured man than he outwardly appeared. Women were still treated worse than livestock in many countries in the Middle East and it took a very enlightened man to break free of his cultural biases.
She liked Zayne Saladar more and more. By the time they ordered coffee Alaina was so stuffed she thought she could barely waddle to the bathroom but excused herself anyway as nature forced her hand.
Ryan had remained relatively silent after Zayne’s arrival but Alaina had been overly aware of him nonetheless—a compelling presence that kept her body on high alert, especially when she caught him watching her with a look that said he would rather be having her for dinner…or with dessert and coffee.
After smoothing down her hair and making certain she didn’t have any food stuck between her teeth—or telltale signs that she in any way returned Ryan’s attraction—Alaina returned to the table only to find that their dishes and been cleared and the bill presented. Ryan paid and left a very generous tip, to his credit.
“So you will have the initial design drawn up for me by the end of the week and we will begin construction by the end of the month.” Zayne stood and offered her his hand, helping her rise.
Ryan remained conspicuously seated.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for such a lovely evening. I can’t wait to get started on the project.” Alaina gathered her portfolio along with the document from Ryan.
Zayne brought her hand to his lips, giving her an appreciative look from under his thick black lashes. “Good. I have already called my driver. He is waiting to take you home. Until we meet again.”
“Good night.” Alaina smiled at Zayne, giving Ryan only the briefest of nods before she turned and walked away, aware that both men watched her intently, wondering that their friendship had survived despite the tragedy in their past.
But her night of passion combined with lack of sleep and the overexcitement of the day were taking their toll as Zayne’s driver opened the car door and ushered her inside. By the time she was back at her apartment Alaina was already half asleep and tumbling into her bed, her only thought was of the masked stranger and the wicked delights of the Red Mask Society.
* * * * *
“You have made her yours?” Zayne asked when Alaina was out of earshot.
“Almost.” Ryan could not keep his eyes off the sway of her ass as she walked away or the sheen of her hair where it tumbled over her shoulders.
Zayne snorted, a most unpleasant sound. “Is she yours or is she not? Have you at least taken her to your bed, my friend?”
“I have but she doesn’t know it yet.” When Zayne twisted his mouth in disbelief, Ryan clapped him hard on the back. “Come. Let me show you something you will
find most interesting.”
Chapter Four
When the package arrived at her apartment promptly at nine Monday morning, Alaina gaped at the ruby-red paper and ribbon and knew exactly where it had come from. What was Madame Manette up to, sending her something here at her apartment where anyone might see?
Not that the driver had on any identifying attire. Nor was there a thing on the outside of the package that remotely resembled incriminating. Discreet and understated just like the woman promised.
This came here for you last night. I am forwarding it at the man’s request. MM.
He’d sent her a present? Was that allowable? Obviously gifts were not considered monetary payments. A fine line but one she was willing to let stand—especially since she was beyond intrigued as to just what was inside the box.
Before she could change her mind and send the gift back unopened, Alaina cut through the ribbon and paper to reveal a sleek black box with another note on top.
She opened it with trembling fingers, disgusted that she suddenly remembered every slick of his tongue along her flesh and every word he said as he pushed her over the edge.
You will wear these for me Saturday night, eight o’clock sharp. Do not be late or I will have to punish you.
Indeed? They would have to see about that. But before she decided to send him a scathing refusal, Alaina opened the box and gasped in shock at its contents.
The first thing she pulled out was a red leather blindfold, followed by a collar and leash made of the same material. Next came a red leather dress that zipped all the way down the back, cut so low in the front she knew she couldn’t wear it in public without being arrested for indecent exposure.
But the Red Mask Society wasn’t public, a wicked side of her protested. And a scarf draped around her neck would cover the collar and cleavage quite nicely.
Was she actually considering wearing the things?
Absolutely not.
She was just about to stuff the entire lot away and send it back to Madame Manette with a polite thanks-but-no-thanks when she spotted a jewelry box, the Tiffany label unmistakable. Inside was a platinum bracelet with a diamond-and-ruby-studded charm in the shape of a mask.
